


Not my Day to Die

by Natertatertot



Category: Fallout: New Vegas, literally a USPS driver who said fuck work
Genre: also just let me write in piece, also none of these are in canonical order its just me writing things, archive warnings are subject to change depending on my moods and motivations lol, they lowkey beat each other up but vestalis is a bitch and im a shitty writer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2020-02-26 12:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18716881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natertatertot/pseuds/Natertatertot
Summary: My shitfest New Vegas writing dump





	1. Not my Day to Die

A hole in the wall, nothing but a few floors of sin. Every crevice reeked of some ungodly smell, and the sound of glass clinking, sex, or unsavory words exchanged permeated the air. Gamblers, prostitutes, alcoholics, the Atomic Wrangler didn’t care. None of them were safe from judgement, and everyone’s bullet comes for them. Everyone's Death comes for them. Sooner or later.  
  
Some sort of entertainment attracted the whoops of a crowd behind him. The people of this cursed slum, this war zone, were lost in their fervor as a dancer shook their exposed body. **What motivated people to sink to such a state?** Moreover, why did they let themselves do it? **Is there not a conscience in every living being?** No one cared. In the corner a game of blackjack was played, a man stumbled drunkenly out into the street where gunshots could be heard, and yet the people still cheered and clapped.  **I should leave.** He was one, in a sense, who offered his hand to those who fell. One who killed the nonredeemable and one who saved those with a little bit of light in them, struggling to get out. One who gave the other hand to help everyone with a little bit of light inside of them. Everyone knew of him, a Messiah, of sorts.   
  
They weren’t the only sinners. The bite of whiskey hit hard at first, and barely into his first drink, his acquired taste for it came back. **What was the point of all this?** No one ever tried to better themselves in this cursed wasteland, and the few pure souls that did, couldn’t stand against the tide of darkness that was embraced by every other human in the bombed out desert of the Mojave. His clothes were caked in mud, blood, and other fluids one could acquire from roaming the wasteland. Yet under all that Good and Strength, he was still just a scared man.  
  
His thoughts traveled back to where he was, and his conditions. He nearly downed the bottle at once to calm his shaking hands, as he had seen death itself. The scythe had been placed so gingerly around his neck, but at the drop of a hat, it winked, as if it was all a joke. It pulled away, and he ran as far as he could from it. Away from that woman. Nothing had ever terrified him as much as she had. Everyone has a breaking point, and she forced his.  **When was the last time I had a drink in a bar?** He never stopped in anywhere civilized for long. Only to trade, then leave as quick as he came.   
  
**What was the purpose of extinguishing the light?** He nearly began hyperventilating, and greedily drank the rest of the bottle, not even down to the base of its neck by that point. **I could’ve killed her.** Yes, he could. **I would’ve died too.** That was also true. **I need to calm down.** That too. His head fell slowly, and he rested it on the bar counter for a moment. The drink burned all the way down, and left him with a toasty feeling.   
  
He took his hat off, setting it next to him on the counter, and fixed the respirator back onto his mouth, relaxing with the rush of fresh air and faint chemicals. Things hadn’t calmed down, and they wouldn’t. Not tonight. Everyone was lost in their hunger, and many reached for the dancer. He patted his pockets and holster, ensuring no one had took anything from him. James Garrett gave him a sympathetic glance, one that knew how much his efforts were in vain. He took the bottle, and walked to the backroom. The low rumble of voices filled the room, along with the constant shouting.  **Do they ever stop?**  
  
The revolver was marked with countless tallies. The constant reminder, the reminder that this world, **No** , this living hell was something that would never change, and took its own tally, while he took his. His beaten and worn down hat was his own reflection, as was the mask. As was the gun. As were his clothes. 

He shot Benny. He shot Mr. House. **Why couldn’t I shoot her?** She was responsible for countless innocent deaths, and her kind deserved nothing more than a painful death. The very act of her existence was a violation of morality. Her being stained everything she touched with darkness, and there was nothing that could be truly free from her.  **Not as long as she is alive.**  
  
He could’ve ended it. One pull of a trigger. The innocent were outweighed by guilty, and would forever be hunted. **Who would hunt the hunters? Who could, for lack of a better term, be the one to put a cap in whoever looked to hurt those who had hurt none?** The answer was clear, but he would never admit it. Actions voice themselves louder than words, and respect earned through good was stronger than respect earned through evil.  **I should really leave.**    
  
He relieved himself in the restroom, and let his thoughts float as the alcohol left him with a warm feeling, but not enough to numb his wits and senses entirely. Everything had tired itself out by that point. The tables were worn. The people were hopeless. And Raymond was tired. But of course, Death still chased him. Everyone dies, Death comes for people in different ways.  One day, a piece of lead would hit him in the wrong place, or his respirator would finally exhaust itself. Or some other god-awful thing would bring him to an end. But today wasn’t his day to die.  
  
Last week, he had put a bullet into the head of a Legionnaire, stole his clothes, and floated up the river. **Someone new came to the Mojave.** That was a story for another day, and he turned to leave, but that same someone, stood in the doorway. Behind their boot heels, just outside the exit, was the same man who left earlier. She hadn’t even bothered to wipe the blood from her face. He froze, tightening the straps on the mask, and pushed the hat down lower when her gaze left him as she was scanning the room.   
  
Warm, fresh crimson liquid spattered and stained her clothes. Some sort of experimental military armor. **That doesn’t matter.** The blood pumped faster, but he simply turned back to the bar, the hat hiding his eyes. **Like that’ll do any good.** He seemed to others like a towering figure, and almost looked uncomfortable, cramped against the bar. All he wanted was to watch her bleed to death. See the life leave her body. Her presence made every fiber of his being want to reach for his gun, and put a bullet between her eyes. Everyone took a moment to look right back at her, but then back to one another, speaking futile words.   
  
**She won’t leave this place alive.**  
  
She stood at an average height, and being Death, it was only fair that she reeked of it. Some sort of sword hung at her hip, and it was dripping the same fresh blood. It only added to the stench of the place, though now it was quiet. Those who knew her name filed out, and poor, terrified James had been left to bartend by Francine, hiding in the storeroom. They were the only three people in the place, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about civilians. Everything was quiet. It was a deafening silence, one that consumed. One that ate up all the words, until all he could do was watch.  **Why is she here?** A better question would be, how did she find him?

 

Heartbeat after heartbeat, second after second. It took her four seconds to walk from the door to the bar, two to order a whiskey, and not even one to pull his gun on her the moment she sat down. **“Virgo Vestalis, you’ve killed hundreds, been responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands, and now you’re here.”** She didn’t give a shit, however, and handed the male Garrett twin some caps, and he gave her a whiskey, then ran to the back, closing and locking the door behind him. **“Before I shoot you, I need to ask, why didn’t you kill me?”** **  
** **  
** Her malicious grin curved up at the sides, not even bothering to look at him. In an instant, he could kill her, and yet she focused on getting the cork out of the bottle, and enjoying the drink. " _I missed a certain someone, and besides.”_ She turned to look at him, pressing her head to the barrel of the gun, pushing it dead center to her brow. _“Why would I end the game so soon? We’ve only just started.”_ It wasn’t a beautiful laugh, and instead was almost a cackle.

 

Only a minute since she opened the door, and her presence intensified, once he truly realized they were alone. With a grin from ear to ear, giggling like she was mad, Virgo Vestalis laughed at her own Death. But it wasn’t her day to die either. _“What’s the matter? Afraid to_ ** _kill_** _me?”_ His eyes widened. The hat tilted up. The gun shook. **She isn’t afraid to die.**  
  
**“I-I’m not afraid of you. You’re just like all t-the other Legion scum.”** His voice faltered, she kept the same shit-eating grin, and he nearly looked away. He refrained from running in fear, and gritted his teeth under the respirator, pushing the barrel harder into her skull. She kept laughing. And laughing. **And laughing.** The casino echoed with her voice, and she wouldn’t stop howling with glee.  
  
She stopped. Eventually, and stared at him. It could’ve been seconds or hours. He didn’t know, and the piercing, reddish brown eyes stabbed him harder than any knife. The smile creeped along her face again, and her face went from satisfaction to pure delight, pushing off of her seat forcefully, shoving his whole arm backwards. _  
__  
__“Boo!”_ _  
__  
_ He fell backwards off the seat, and she reached for the mask at the same time, pulling it up off of his head. He pulled the trigger and barely missed her ear. The gun fell to the floor and it was all over in an instant. He lunged for the mask but was met with a swift kick to the face, and picked up the hat on his way down. _“Nice try, fuckface. Now what on Earth would you need this for, hmm?”_ She turned the mask around, to find the words **DO NOT TOUCH - OXYGEN CARTRIDGE** painted into the back of it. He stumbled to his feet, holding his nose for a few moments but letting the blood drip to hold his hands in front of him, one unsheathing the knife on his hip.  _"Pulmonary Fibrosis? You've got to be shitting me."_ He stared her down, his shoulders rising and almost forcefully.  
  
**Virgo Vestalis won’t leave here alive.** **  
****  
****  
** She got up from her seat, facing the stunned Ray. _“Wow, pulling a knife on a lady like that? I guess you’re more of a fighter than a lover. Oh well, chivalry is dead anyways, so try me, you fuck.”_ He charged right at her, but the moment he would’ve attempted to stab her, he dropped to the floor, bringing one knee up, and lifting her legs to chest level. He swung them out to the side, and proceeded to slam her body into the counter. _What the fuck is this guy doing?_ He pinned her to the counter, holding his knife to her throat.  
  
Glass was shattered and they were both covered in whiskey and blood. _“Anyone who says Legion is brutal, has never met you.”_ He struggled against her hands, trying to inch the knife closer and closer to her throat. **“At least we don’t crucify people, you fucking bi-”** She spit in his eye, pushed his wrist backwards, grabbed the knife, kicked him in the crotch, and slammed him down on the bar. Wild stabs came at his head as he tried to push her back and avoid them.   
  
He kicked her in the stomach, sending her backwards a few feet, and forcing the knife out of her hand and knocking the wind out of her, and giving him just enough time to ready himself. **She’s too damn fast!** She came right for him, one punch after another, and he held it in him long enough to take the hits, then counter with a right hook to the jaw. _He’s too damn strong!_ He knocked her backwards far enough to catch his breath, and everything came to a halt. Laborious coughs erupted from him, and he made the mistake of going for the mask.

She moved like a flash, and then he could only comprehend legs wrapping around his neck, her spinning through the air, and getting the shit punched out of him. They fell to the floor while she continued to beat down on him from above. He held her off with one hand and reached for the gun with the other, pulling it around just in time to meet her holding the knife, and his mask, the blade next to the cartridge, ready to break it open. He couldn’t stop coughing, and his vision began to tunnel. The gun fell, and he kept reaching for the mask, being pinned under her. Feeble hands pulled lightly now at her arms. She leaned in close, and whispered into his ear. _“What’s the matter? Can’t handle it? Can't handle **me**?"_ _  
_ _  
_ He woke up to the white of tent canvas, then the needle of an IV, and to a Followers Doctor. He should’ve felt he was safe, but felt the urge to get up. **I need to move.** The doctor tried putting him back down in bed, but he ripped the tube off, and walked across the courtyard. Several other doctors tried to stop him, but they couldn't hold him back.. He pulled his things out of a locker, got changed in full view, reloaded the one chamber he fired, and grabbed his hat. A piece of paper was sticking out of its band. After reading the note, he took a match, let the paper burn down to his finger tips, then stomped the remains into the dirt. He pushed open the doors of the fort, holstered his gun, took a deep breath, and left New Vegas.   
  
_Shame I don't date people with respiratory problems, see ya! XOXO_  
  
She wrote it down, then slipped it inside his hat, and placed it on his head. His body was dumped outside the Old Mormon Fort, then she knocked on the door, and booked it.

Yes, they both looked death in the eye that day,

But it wasn’t their day to die. **  
** **  
**


	2. Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> its sad boi hours if you dont like my writing leave me alone; yeehaw man gets depressed bc of psycho chick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeehaw chucklefucks

Dusty, dim, hopeless. The town of Goodsprings woke quietly into the morning. It was something they had done hundreds of times before, and it was something they’ll do thousands of times after. Settlers greeted one another, and this tiny town almost seemed untouched by the wars being fought around it. Caravans came and went, until the town, not even possessing a population of ten, was lonely once more.   
  
His footsteps fell heavy, rubbing his neck. **What the fuck did she do to me?** Time moved like thick jelly, and he stumbled through the town.The dim light of the rising sun shone on the town, and he winced when the first rays hit his eyes. It seemed like forever as he walked down the road, and onto a dirt path. A Brahmin nudged him and he patted it on the head. Fingers felt for the door, and he stepped inside the shack.   
  
The way she looked at him, displayed both insanity, yet collected and calm at the same time. She knew what she was doing. **She followed me.** How else did she know where he was? She didn’t kill him, but she could’ve. A second time he couldn’t pull the trigger. They both had a chance to kill the other. **A second time I couldn’t kill h-** He hadn’t even finished the thought as he collapsed onto the bed, asleep.   
  
First came a rough sting, followed by his head jerking to one side. Then he realized a gun was pointed at his head. Then another gun. **And another.** Then the blade at his throat seemed eager to sever his head, almost like it was thirsting for blood. He blinked to adjust his eyes, and was immediately tied up. He kicked at one soldier, and three others beat him down. Another put the handle of their machete into his head as hard as he could. They hurried out in the night, carrying his body.   
  
His feet scraped the dirt, cutting and bruising with the bits of glass and rocks everywhere, and his head hung limp. But then he was pulled up. A barrel pressed against the back of his head pushed him forward. All he could make out was the light from torches, tent flaps, and the silhouettes of those who wore crappy versions of ancient armor. He was in the Fort. He struggled against his captors, and they shoved him into one tent at the end. His patellas were kicked from behind, and he fell. Static crackled in the twilight air, and Why Don’t You Do Right’s sassy tune opened with the first few notes.   
  
All at once, they descended on him like wild animals. Kicking, punching, everything quiet except for the landing of the blows, coughing, and moaning in pain. _“That’s enough. Put his things in the chest and leave us.”_ The mask was off a few feet away. They chained him to a post, restraining his hands.  Blood trickled from above his hairline. He had three dislocated fingers. And with the rising and falling of his chest, he could feel cracked ribs, and scarred lungs breathe heavily. **Not this shit again.** He lay crumpled in a pile on the floor, and all she did was stare at him. She watched as his blood mixed with the dirt, looking at his pathetic state with the worst kind of smirk.   
  
  
  
  
One eye was bruised shut, and he stared at her roughly as she walked over. **“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. Romans, chapter twelve, verse twenty-one.”** He spit on her shoe, and in an instant, the same boot shoved him into the grime. _“Shut the fuck up or die. Proverbs, chapter thirteen, verse three. You’re not the only one who reads, NCR dog.”_ _  
__  
_ He tilted his head to the side, looking at her through a sticky eyelid, the head wound barely coagulated. He felt the urge to vomit, and coughed up a dark, murky substance that wasn’t entirely blood. _“You really should shut up.”_ She fixed duct tape across his mouth, and stared right back at him with a manic grin, grabbing his face. **I need to get out of this.** A sharp headbutt came from him, and she didn’t even flinch, simply setting her thumbs on his nose, and pressing. Hard. Pained groans and panicked noises mixed with Peggy Lee could be heard if one walked past, but in the dead of the night, no one cared to listen. **That’s not enough, she needs to be knocked down a peg.** The bone popped back into place, and she kicked him again.   
  
Then came the hacking for more air, and she pulled him up by the collar, fixing the mask on his head. _“ Quit being a little bitch. You can still breathe through your nose, dipshit.”_ She took the hat, and placed it on her own head of matted and thick hair. She practically pranced around the room, and one lively step to another mirrored the giddiness on her face. Then she twirled around once more, bringing her leg out to make him double over again. **Fall over, pretend to be unconscious.** **  
****  
** Heavy breathing was audible as he worked his fingers back into place. But she saw it nothing more as him recoiling in pain. **Step one; Submit.** Deft hands moved about behind the pole, a single lockpick was pulled from a fold in the clothing, and he worked on his escape. _“I’ve always thought the push and pull of good and evil was interesting. Have you? One can’t exist without the other. And if they were to both be destroyed, then there’d be no need for either._ _I couldn’t have killed you in Freeside. I’d be dead not even a quarter of the way here.”_ _  
__  
_ She kneeled down, tapping his head lightly. _“Hello? Annnyone home in there?”_ When she got no answer, she delivered a strong headbutt to him, prompting him to groan in pain, and tilt upwards. _“That’s a good dog. Now who’s a good little NCR dog? Who’s a good boy?”_ She got into the act, her eyes widening and her voice becoming higher pitched. **Step two; Conform.** She immediately turned cold, and let a hand claw across his cheek. Little droplets of blood formed, and he let himself lean forward. The ground was some yawning abyss, the confusion and pain mixed together to form some weird vision. _  
___  
She pulled the same knife from his waist, twirling it around. Her eyes looked down. The chains were taut, and he was slumped forward. She kneeled down to his level, and pulled him by the collar. A hard backhand slap went across his face, and his one good eye glared at her. “I’m not done with you, not by a long sh-” **Step three; Strike** His one good hand disarmed her, and simultaneously stabbed it into her leg. It came back up to her pained face, and he let his hand wring her neck. He pulled the knife out, and put on a stealth boy, turning the other one on for her. He grabbed a pair of handcuffs and slapped them on her wrists, tightening them to an uncomfortable extent. **“I’m not done with you either. Now shut the fuck up.”** A simple thump against her temple and she was out like a light.

  
Darkness comes like a hand. It can have warmth. A firm grasp. All it needs is for someone to reach right back out to it. It wasn’t that hard for her to adjust. Some man sang about no grave holding him down, and a single lightbulb flickered. Every little surge showed the bandoliers. Every little blinking glow manifested the jacket. Darkness hid his face, for now. It both covered him from her and blinded. _“Got some epic speech? Gonna’ maybe put a bullet between my eyes? Just get it done with already? Put me in our grave? Well here’s my last words, dog. Eat shit and die, mother-”_   
  
Darkness didn’t hold him entirely, and he looked up. He was crying. She could tell, and he couldn’t deny it. **“What’s the point in doing all of this? Why do you feel the need to commit such acts of violence?”** He paced across the room, every step had a meaning, and the tears fell still. _“I could ask you the same thing. You might think, ‘no, I’m justified, I kill with reason.’ And for some reason, I’m not dead yet. I know who you are, I knew long before. You’re just a pathetic excuse of a human. Killing me now only adds to the pile of bodies in your wake, but it doesn’t matter, just accept that I'm right, kill me, and move on.”_   
  
That same, shit-eating grin crossed her face, and while she laid against the wall, she didn’t seek to harm him any more. He had a strange look. Of confusion. And fear. She never feared death.   **“Why?”** At the state he was in, all he could do is look at her. They stared, and all she could do was stare back. She finally took a breath, leaning into his face.   
  
_“You don’t think I know who you are? You must be itching to kill me. And you really could. But you won’t. Because at this point, you’re just like me. You’re addicted to this game. The feeling of constant death. Poor dog. We could be each other’s demise. And yet we aren’t. You think I haven’t seen your skills? I know you could simply shoot me. But at the same time, you can’t. You. Need. Me. We could each kill each other, and the game would end. But mark my words,_   
  
_We will play it, time and time again.”_ **  
**


	3. Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this bit is kinda OOC teetering on canon but honestly it was a fun thing to write

Dust everywhere. In the lungs, eyes, ears, every orifice caked in coarse sand, or red, cracking clay. His hat forced down tightly to prevent it from flying, mask tied tight, and his entire body felt like it was torn by sandpaper. Every little piece cut him like a needle. He couldn’t stop, there was no place to hide. Not from the storm, not from the sand, and not from himself. Every step took decades to make, praying all the while he was still on the path. Every step, every breath, and every second was lost in this moment.    
  
Lead scraped its way through his back and through his front like some sort of burning, embodiment of all his own anger. It slugged him forward, an unknown punch from a very much known demon. Everything stopped for but a split second. Everything slowed down, shock setting in, then everything reeled at once. She exhaled, he laid still, and the dust filled the new hole in his body. First it was numb, then everything stabbed into him. Flames burned, he groaned in his pain, and she let a smile grow across her cursed face.    
  
He was easy prey, anything could take him, but he was hers to have. The wind howled horribly all around at this point, but in that moment, it was quiet. Time slowed again, and everything was silenced. Every intense moment had passed, and now it was calm. Everything kept burning, and he felt her eyes on him. She pulled the bolt back, then pushed it forward. She didn’t dare take her sights off of him, nearly giggling and finding it hard to keep her heart from racing. The dust settled and caked onto his eyelids, and he couldn’t open them, so he laid in the blood, dirt, and asphalt, and let himself cry.    
  
They killed countless people, how could this be any different? It was, for some inexplicable, absurd reason, it was. Everything kept speeding up, yet staying frozen at the same time. In this moment, each of them a few hundred meters from the other, felt as if their other half was standing next to them. Every breath was like a scream, and he kept crying. He sat himself against a rock, letting the tears flow, as he wiped his eyes clear. He knew she could see every move he made, but he didn’t care anymore.   
  
He held his hands against his gut, he could taste the blood and grit between his teeth, and grinding them was the only thing he could do to prevent from screaming outright. He tore at his jean cuffs, groaning in the effort of every little movement. The work of blocking the hole in the left of his mid-abdomen made his hands go jerky with the rush to stop the flow of blood. His breathing was quick and heavy, frantically looking for some glint, or sign of the shooter. If it weren’t for the mask and hat pushed low on his face, she would’ve seen the panic in his eyes and the abrupt drain of color from his face.    
  
The blood caked his hands, some desperate effort towards his survival had only succeeded for the immediate future. They both knew he could die without help, and she could predict his movements like any good hunter, right down to pulling off his mask to spit blood. With every beat of his heart, another second closer he felt towards death. Inch by inch, he worked himself off the ground, away from the scorching rock, and into her piercing view. Another bullet came as mercilessly as the first, ripping through his calf, planting him face first into boiling asphalt. 

  
_“Legate Lanius, this is Frumentairus Vestalis. Target is down, how copy, over?”_ Static crackled over the radio, and no voice responded. Not a single word made its way back to her. No effort was made, and she received no contact. _“My Legate? A-are you there?”_ Her face turned to the radio, almost frantically, and it seemed like an eternity before the wind picked up again, and a gruff, looming voice echoed back. “Vestalis, hold your position, his head is mine.” Almost in synchronicity, the storm picked up. She immediately looked through her scope once more, to find the hulking, giant of a man, looming over Raymond, drawing his machete. Her eyes narrowed, and a sinking feeling hit her all at once. He was going to kill him. Everything tensed up, and the thought burned into the back of her eyes, and she nearly snarled as she aimed.    
  
_“_ ** _He is mine to have.”_** **  
****  
**Almost instinctively, she pressed the radio, yelling into it frantically, _“Lanius! Snip-”_ then let the radio go dead. He immediately looked up, searching the cliffs, then when his back was turned, she fired. The bullet immediately hit him, but the mountain of a man seemed to never even be hurt at all, and retreated swiftly. All at once, the storm was on top of them. Moving from boulder to boulder, she began to imagine how she would get to him, let alone get back. This thing, this terrible obsession she had, she couldn’t even realize it, that between her one love, and this man, she had crossed some sort of line.   
  
To her, the Monster of the East was more than a human being, he was almost a relic of a time long ago. Some forgotten genes were implanted on him, and every waking moment in his mountain of a presence, she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. He was out there somewhere. She would never kill that marvel of a man, of course not. But when someone comes between her and her obsession, she would do nearly anything to keep anyone else from having him. The wind howled on, dirt and grit kept filling her eyes, and she almost mistook Ray for a rock. A bleeding, dirty, close to death, rock.   
  
Everything ached. He still felt stopped in time, as if existence itself halted to a crawl. _“You pathetic man. That’s all you are, aren’t you? That’s all you are, and all you’ll ever be. You won’t ever truly understand. No one would. I… I can kill you, I could’ve killed you, but you’re just too fascinating to kill like that.”_ A deranged, yet eerily calm smile crossed her face in the darkness. His bandaged breast and left side were illuminated by a single unblocked window. The faint rays of moon cast over him like her own desire to maim. His own will to talk was cancelled out by her seemingly fluorescent eyes, piercing him a third time, in the darkness.  
  


Only when he tried to get up did he finally notice the straps holding him down to the chair.  _ “Don’t worry, you’ll be out of my hair soon enough.”  _ She met his stare, gagging him with a cloth, and reclining the chair.  _ “Struggling will get you nowhere, but for the meantime…”  _ A blindfold came over his eyes, then he began to panic, lashing outwards, doing nothing to break the straps.  _ “Let’s have a little fun.”  _ Then came the sensation of water over his face, filling his nostrils.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, and share if you liked it!


	4. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas ya'll and have a happy fuckin' New Year
> 
> Here's the song if you're wanting to hear vvvv
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GfZPtkqXQIA

Hands fumbled to twist the knobs of the seemingly ancient technology. The old and worn away circular pieces of plastic cracked in some areas, scraping and cutting their dry and scarred skin as they worked to find a station that was on air.  
  
 _"This is Mr. New Vegas, giving a warm 'Merry Christmas' to you all once again. As we continue to work our way up the top charts on this cold Christmas Eve, we want to thank you all for tuning in and enjoying the show. You may have heard local NCR soldiers yearn for it, and tonight feels like it, with the newfound peace between reported pockets of NCR and Legion soldiers. From here at Radio New Vegas, Joyeux Noel."  
  
_ Their eyes locked contact, realizing that, once a signal was found, their hands meshed into each other. He laid into her. She ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. The larger man, though younger, leaned into her embrace. The building's walls kept visibility of the outside to nearly zero, but it didn't prevent the cold from seeping in. _  
  
"I'm... dreaming.. of a white... Christmas... just like the ones I used to know."  
  
_ The only thing that came close to a nuclear winter in the Mojave were the cold, lonely December nights. Of course there could only be one mattress in the El Dorado Gas & Service station. Weren't there more? Of course, there had to be no blankets in sight. Sure, it could've ended all here, but fate brought them together again, and they would freeze without each other. _  
  
"Where those treetops.. glisten... and... children listen.. to hear.. sleigh bells in the snow, the snow."  
  
_ A gun or a knife could've ended it all, but they laid their weapons to the side, only clothes and guilt covering their bodies now. Hatred could be set aside for now, it was Christmas Eve. Something was felt deep inside of the two. Something that meant more than their conflict. It was waking up, on a morning like tomorrow. This same position, a time before; an existence ago for him, years for her. _  
  
"Oh then I-I-I am dreaming.. of a white... Christmas... with, ev'ry Christmas card I write."  
  
_ Instead of the cold and moonlight seeping in through cracks, she was still there. In the waking hours of sunlight, and warmth, with the feeling of peace, she was there. That desire to know what this was, whether a vision of the future or past, ripped at him the way her bullets and hands have done. The desire of being the only two beings who were locked in consistent war with each other and themselves had broken away. _  
  
"May your days, may your days, may your days be merry and briiiiight!"  
  
_ Maybe it was the Christmas spirit that chipped away at their hardened hearts, maybe it was because Camille held onto that memory, and her circumstances were forgotten in this building, on this night. One more deep breath was taken by Raymond, then he took off his mask, placing it near his other belongings. The young man looked up at her as she held her arms around him, and cried. _  
  
"And may all.. your Christmases be white."  
  
_ It was without sobs, without any expression, without movement. He stared at her, and cried, and let the tears flow down. There was no point in being stoic, but emotion meant everything right now. **"Do you truly hate me? If we were to throw down our causes right now, and you were to help me remember who I was.. What I was, would you? Please, I'm tired of this war. I'm tired of fighting. I don't want to die."** _  
  
"I-I-I, I'm dreaming.. of a whiiiite... Christmas... just like the ones I used to knooow."  
  
_ As he shivered a bit more into her, she rested a hand on his chin, pulling the rest of him into her.  ** _"I don't ever remember you being exactly this vulnerable, but I'd have to think about it a moment."_  **Her eyes flickered in curiosity, seeing his true self. Gone was the skillful marksman who had no problem taking lives. In his place was a frightened boy. _  
  
"Where the treetops.. glisten.. and ooohhh, children lis-ten... to hear... sleigh bells in the snooooow!"  
  
_ All the hurt she had caused him and all the hurt he had caused her flickered through her mind. She didn't know if she could ever fully forgive him, and neither did she know how he had seemingly given himself up to her. Her snake-like eyes looked between him and the radio, swallowing air for a moment, then speaking in a hushed tone. _  
  
"I-I-I, I'm dreaming.. of a whiiite... Christmaaas! With ev'ry.. Christmas card I wriiiite."  
  
 **"The truth is, I don't quite remember much before.. Only that you were an enlisted soldier, and I happened to be passing through the outpost."**  
  
"May those days, may your days, may your days be merry and briiiight!"  
  
 **"I remember a version of you that strived to make me laugh, was there when I myself cried, and carried that same belief in the Old World that you still do. The rest of your past is a road yet to be walked, but that link was cut when you were pulled from the front line."**  
  
"And may all...... your.... Christmaseeeess...... be... whiiiiite."  
  
 **"That scar on your head? Gunshot wound from Bitter Springs. I knew what happened there, but you were in a coma for so long, I stopped believing in that version of you. Seeing you then, after I broke off and led a different life, I didn't know whether to follow orders or seek you out. I'll tell you more in the morning. Think of it as my gift to you. Your memory."**  
  
"Jingle bells, Jingle bells, jingle alllll the.. way, oooo~"  
  
_The taller and athletic man's cries then turned slowly into racking sobs, which she shushed soothingly, hold his head into her side, humming along with the radio. Eventually he went motionless in her arms, and his breathing became controlled, and she drifted off to sleep. _  
_


End file.
